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by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus comes home late.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Severus closes the door softly behind him, scowling at the implacable “click” that he can never quite stifle. He pockets his keys in his robe and takes that robe off to drape over the nearby hanger. It’s too warm in the house for anything more than the already sweltering turtlenecks he insists on wearing, because Severus doesn’t care if t-shirts and tanks are bought for him; he isn’t going to wear them.

The stairs creak just as disagreeably as the lock while Severus ascends them, now down to his black socks. He gets halfway down the corridor when he stops to backtrack to the sitting room—years of being a Hogwarts professor have taught him to trust his peripherals.

Severus knew he would be out late. Remus knew he would be out late. But Severus is already aware that his boyfriend has a serious listening problem (or at least, a serious issue actually using the information he absorbs) so he isn’t particularly surprised. Just mildly irritated. Releasing a frustrated growl, Severus stalks into his sitting room, intent on waking the sleeping man. But as usual, he doesn’t quite make it that far.

Severus pauses about one inch away, hand already outstretched. Though still. Remus Lupin is curled up on his side, covered to the waist in a thin, navy blue blanket, with an aged book lying half open in his lap. There’s a vacant, contented smile on his lips, and it strikes Severus, for the umpteenth time, just how much Remus looks like he _belongs_ there. His oversized, wrinkled clothes fit right in with Severus’ drab interior; the ragged sofa, the scratched coffee table, and the haphazard, messy wall of books in the background. He looks more in place than Severus has ever done here, and he’s never lived anywhere else.

Well, except at Hogwarts. There’s no use spending summers there anymore—not now that he has someone to come home to. And there’s a greater chance of the house elves, or worse, a colleague, bursting in on them there. For all of Remus’ jovial openness, Severus still can’t bring himself to let anyone else know.

He says it’s because he’s very private. But he knows, and he thinks Remus might too, deep down, that it’s because he’s worried that if anyone else discovers he has Remus, they’ll try to compete and take Remus away. Merlin knows Severus has never done a single thing in his life that makes him worthy of his boyfriend, and it’s still a wonder to him every day, when he wakes up and finds himself not alone.

On occasion, when Remus disappears to the Burrow, or Grimmauld Place, or anywhere really, Severus worries what he’ll say. If he’ll let it slip, and if his friends will then do their friendly duty, and tell Remus what a mistake he’s making. They’ll tell him, surely, that just because he’s a werewolf doesn’t mean he has to settle, certainly not so low as _Severus Snape_. He can find anyone to finance or make his Wolfsbane potion—he’s certainly cute enough—and he could probably still get that out of Severus, anyway—Severus will always do that for Remus; he’s told his boyfriend time and time again.

But Remus invariably comes back to him, with too-warm hugs and too-kind kisses, and a smile on his lips that says he’s still Severus’, always and only.

It’s a marvel Severus ever manages to return these wide grins, though his are admittedly more tight and hollow. He never gushes like he wants to, afterwards, never says, or shows, or even hints at how much it means to him. He simply continues to scowl at more than half the world, and Remus, cheerful, intelligent, forgiving Remus, somehow loves him anyway.

Severus stands there pointlessly until his current scowl runs out, and his legs get too tired to bother. With a heavy sigh, mostly directed at himself, he moves to the end of his sofa. He has to lift Remus’ curled legs to sit down, and then he places them back over his lap.

Even if he deserves to, Severus just can’t bring himself to sleep alone anymore. It’s such a downgrade. Sleeping on the sofa will surely give him back problems in the morning, but he’ll just unjustly bark at Remus, and everything will be okay. His hands idly start to stroke Remus’ legs of their own accord, like petting a cat. Perhaps he’s trying to settle himself into sleeping. The only light is the pale glow of a tableside lamp, and the lesser shine of the stars and moon through his kitchen window, trickling through the door on the other side of the room. Leaning his head back on his arm, which he throws over the back of the sofa, he watches Remus sleep.

He looks so _innocent_ like this. His light hair has tumbled a bit into his face, his lips slightly parted and breathing heavily. The never-healing scars that line his face add a sense of character to Severus and a hint of vulnerability. They make Severus want to gather Remus up into his arms and promise, over and over, that he’ll never let any new scars form. He’ll keep Remus save, from the world and from himself.

Because Remus is sleeping, and there’s no one else here to see, Severus lets his hand wander. He slides up his boyfriend’s relaxed body and strokes his calloused thumb across the scar on Remus’ cheek. He means to be feather-light about it, but apparently he’s not as stealthy as he once was. Remus’ eyelids flutter and his breathing pauses briefly. Then he groggily cracks one eye open at Severus, and his lips spread into a sleepy, soft smile.

“’Hey,” Remus mumbles, and follows it up with a soft grunting noise of becoming awake. Severus’ thumb stills, but he doesn’t move his hand. He doesn’t answer, either, just frowns naturally down. Lifting a curled hand to wipe at his eyes, Remus yawns, “You’re late.”

“I told you that,” Severus scowls, but Remus is already slowly sitting up, legs turning but staying stretched across Severus’ lap. When Remus has straightened out and is too close for Severus not to, Severus closes the distance to force a quick peck on his boyfriend’s cheek. Remus smiles at it and turns his head to catch Severus on the mouth and kiss him properly.

Severus is too tired for this. But he can never touch Remus’ body without wanting more, and his arm snakes around Remus’ back, anyway, tugging him in. Remus makes a contented sound against his lips, and Severus takes advantage long enough to slip his tongue in. Remus moans and lets Severus ravish his mouth. That’s always what it turns into. Years of solitude has made Severus hungry, and it doesn’t take much to have him uncharacteristically overzealous about it—he leans into Remus and tongues every inch of Remus’ wet mouth, pressing further and further down until Remus’ back hits the bottom of the sofa again. Stretched over him, Severus just keeps going. Somehow Remus always digresses him back into a teenager—not that Severus ever got to make out much, back then. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t want to. If he hadn’t been such a coward and approached Remus the way he wanted, maybe things would be different now.

Remus gently lifts his hands to hold Severus’ shoulders down. One set of fingers slips deftly into his hair, stroking. The blanket’s trapped between them, and Severus has to adjust his legs to properly do this; he’s too old for odd positions. He kisses Remus fiercely and delights in every whimper and moan released into his mouth and keeps going, going, until it’s too much and he can’t put off breathing any longer. He still hasn’t quite gotten the skill of managing air with his nose—not when his head’s already lost and it’s too much to be calculated. When he pulls away, it’s with a little gasp from both parties, and Remus mutters sleepily, “’Missed you.”

Severus doesn’t say anything. He stays draped over Remus, curled up on the too-small sofa, and gets a guilty, vindictive pleasure out of imaging all the insults he’ll throw at Remus tomorrow, because this terrible posture really is all his fault.

But right, now he can’t bring himself to say anything that isn’t ‘I love you,’ which he doesn’t say either. Because then Remus will only say it back, and it’ll hurt too much if that someday ends.


End file.
